Almost Six Things
by NonchalantxFish
Summary: The Fire Lord goes through a tough day. Guess how he sorts his mind out? Zutara fluff. Pairing to "Barely Four Things".


**1\. He loved her hands**

They were smooth - of course they'd be smooth, with her always bending her element - but not delicate. Yes, they were always stroked into perfection with her water, but they were marked with the trials-and-errors of her. A stray poke of a needle when she was patching a certain Avatar's clothing back up, an accidental scalding when she was cooking a certain idiot Water Tribe warrior's breakfast (and lunch . . . and dinner . . . and every meal in between, really). Working hands, beautiful hands. Small ovals with long, brown fingers. Sometimes curled into fists with her anger (Justified, though easily provoked), sometimes dancing with water droplets (When she was bored - surprisingly, with peace, the crazy girl got easily bored), sometimes gently running through hair or down a shaking figure's back with all the comfort in the world in those tiny, powerful hands.

 **2\. He loved her hair**

He wouldn't call them curls per say. They certainly curled up a little at the ends, little locks sticking up from her head in the morning (She had lovely bed hair, not that he could ever convince her of that). Waves. He'd call them waves - fitting, since she was the ocean girl. Waves of dark, dark brown hair; but in the sunlight, the thinnest strands shone coppery. He liked to point them out. Mostly because when he did, she'd smile one of those smiles that was so her, so uniquely her, sometimes he felt his heart stop in the best of ways. How many times had he run his fingers through her hair? Wild and almost untamable, but she always managed to control the unruly waves. She had a way of being able to control everything - through love or sheer will, that was her.

 **3\. He loved her eyes**

How could he not? A blue so deep that he would - and still did - lose himself in them, until of course she laughed or smirked and teased ("See something you like, Mr. Hotpants?"). And he swore (to himself, of course, he'd never say all these corny things aloud - a certain blind girl wouldn't let him live it down) that they changed shades - and he knew every single one. He remembered a lighter tint of blue, pale and silvery like the Southern snow they reflected, and filled with fear, but also defiance. Then a green-tinted one, once filled with forgiveness and an offer of salvation, then the pain of betrayal and loss. A dark shade, reflecting a puppet dancing to her fingers, squawking like the sea raven he was. A kind shade, dawn-flushed and tired, but again, filled with forgiveness - and hope, and trust, and honor. He knew her blue eyes. He loved her blue eyes.

 **4\. He loved her stubbornness**

Not that he would ever ever ever let her know - arguing with the waterbender was hard enough. She saw things through with a compassionate ferocity, driven by her will to help and nurture and protect. 14 years of age, and she releases a boy from a 100-year-old prison of ice with just her brother's ("STOLEN, may I remind you! What kind of sister steals her brother's machete?") weapon and her desire to save. 14 years of age, and she inspires and frees a bunch of hopeless earthbenders. 14 years of age, and she fends off blast after blast of fire in that Northern oasis, all to protect that boy she'd released long ago from the boy who had tied her to a tree (Among other things . . . 'I'll save you from the pirates, indeed' . . .). It was a damn annoyance, but it was her strength.

 **5\. He loved her bending**

Oh, the arrogant laughter and triumphant grins he got from that ("I'll never drink again . . . No, I'll never confide in Uncle again . . . No, I'll never not check for eavesdropping women coming back from a Spa Day again . . ."). But her bending was so part of her, so powerful, he had to admire it. He remembered how it had grown from accidental (and wrongly directed) bouts of freezing to a dome of rain, shards of killing ice, and the blood in a man's body. But he also remembered how it saved him, the cool healing glow that juxtaposed that sharp, white-hot crackle just prior. Her element danced in her hands, whips of water, breaths of ice, curtains of mist.

 **6\. He loved her everything**

Here he was, trying to make an organized list to calm his mind down, and there she was, bursting into his line of sight and making him forget his stupid list and just drink in the sight of her. One hand relaxed around a cradle of firelilies, resting in the crook of her elbow, the other relaxed on a stone bench, supporting her weight. Hair loose, waves free of their braid, flowing out behind her and lit copper-brown with the famous Fire Nation sunlight. Eyes bright, smiling, and happy; the shade he had seen most - thankfully - and his favorite shade of blue, always. Stubbornly walking about, feet bare and belly swelling, even though he'd told her - near begged her - to keep to their quarters and rest ("Who do you think I am, Fire Lord? You couldn't boss me around when we were enemies, you didn't boss me around when we were friends, so you won't be bossing me around now that we're married!"). The pond (his favorite turtleduck pond) slowly spiraling into the air, twisting threats of water weaving patterns to the flicks of her fingers and the humming of her voice.

Here he was, and there she was, and then they were there together, and the mighty Fire Lord smiled.

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A/N: Oh lord, I did it. FIRST ZUTARA FANFIC YEAH! Likes and reviews?


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